


Dragon-Tamer

by marchionessofblackadder



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:58:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchionessofblackadder/pseuds/marchionessofblackadder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Betwixt monsters and maidens, Rumpelstiltskin chose well for Belle as his caretaker. After an evening spent on the arm of the Dark One, Belle learns just how untameable the spinner's magic is, and how far some people will go to take it for their own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Garnet-Cut Scales

**Author's Note:**

> For Sco, one of the best inspirations and friends I've ever had.
> 
> “Perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love.” -Rainer Maria Rilke

They were dead on their feet, but in hindsight, Belle would have sold her soul to have that evening.  
  
The fireflies that he had enchanted to light their way danced before them, twinkling and twirling, but the darkness of the forest left them otherwise in shadow. Belle’s heavy skirts weighed her down, yards of sea silk spun by mermaids, dyed blood red with embroidered hems of spun gold, the thick billowing sleeves draping almost to her slippers. It was a far cry from her gold gown she’d worn once upon a time. Rumpelstiltskin had gifted it to her with a devilish smile and a raking look that had practically undressed her upon presenting it. At first she had been too embarrassed to show him the result, but he had eventually coaxed her with cooing reassurances that he needed to know if it fit, after all she had to look presentable to be at his side at court (or so he told her). Truthfully, it was too much and not enough at the same time leaving her shoulders bare, cutting down lower on her back that seemed to catch every breeze. The gown was too daring for a princess, too rich for a queen.  
  
He had dressed her like a sorceress.  
  
“This is above my station,” she had said, half a plea for reason and half trying to convince herself of that it was true, looking in her mirror. She resembled a girl playing dress up, as if she’d wandered into her mother’s armoire again. But no, the gown had been made for her, and fit her body like nothing else she’d ever owned.  
  
As she turned from side to side, smoothing down the bodice, Rumpelstiltskin had slid up from his chair with the grace of a feline, coming to stand behind her. He placed his hands upon her naked shoulders, straightening her posture. Belle followed the instructions of his hands like she was a doll, and shivered when he giggled in her ear. “You are my companion, dearie,” he had lilted, lightly thrumming his darkened nail tips along her shoulder. “There is no higher station to be had.”  
  
Sitting at the mahogany vanity, she’d gathered her curls back with two gold combs, wrought in roses and pearls that he’d garnered from an empress. “You are my equal,” he’d said, crowning her with the laurel of rubies and gold. “Now you must dress the part.”  
  
The entire situation had started when Rumpelstiltskin had approached her on the subject of going on a trip. He needed a traveling companion for court appearances, someone to appear as equal status that he could trust. Belle had wondered at this strange request- after all, hadn’t he gotten on fine before by himself? But, she wanted to see the worlds beyond the castle, so she had, of course, accepted immediately almost before the words could drop from his lips.  
  
Belle couldn’t fight the giddiness that bubbled up inside her at the thought of being able to see beyond the estate’s walls. She knew Rumpelstiltskin traveled far and wide, and the fact he trusted her beyond them- to be with him- gave her an indescribable emotion akin to something like hope, like a warm cup of tea but sweetened.  
  
Though what he had wanted in return for her sacrifice (having to “handle him” as he had quipped) was still a mystery to her. He had only simply (and  suspiciously ) required her at his side for the duration of the trip, and trips to come.  
  
Belle had been wary, then, and wondered what she’d gotten herself into. With no set price, she knew it could not end promisingly, and she was not naïve enough to think he would make a deal with her for free. Caretaker she might have been, but exempt from the rules she was not.  
  
But Rumpelstiltskin had kept his end of the bargain, and Belle had seen whole other worlds. She’d picked sunflowers from Dawn’s shore, played winter’s piccolo of the Ice City of Voltan, drunk the thick summer spiced mead of Dorstonis. With the Dark One, she’d memorized the untamed wilderness of the enchanted forest, the destructively beautiful seaside crashing against the bluffs, and even the breathtaking, silently inspiring mountains. Those were most important, she had found out one night, as Rumpelstiltskin sought to own them.  
  
Whatever he would need with his own set of mountains for was beyond Belle’s knowledge, and when she’d asked he’d simply grinned with those dastardly teeth of his and waggled his finger at her nose. “Let me have my secrets, dearie,” he’d sung. And, well, Belle had always loved a good mystery.  
  
His “mysteries” were starting to take a toll on them now, though, as they trudged silently through the woods at his side. She felt the chill of the night whispering over her neck, and all she wanted then was to wriggle out of the yards of silk and curl up under the sheets of a goose feathered mattress beside a warm fire. But they had miles to go before they could sleep, and she wouldn’t dare complain, especially when Rumpelstiltskin seemed as tired as he was. She’d never seen him so completely  gone,  so quiet and tame. She caught him once when he stumbled, eyes half lidded, mumbling his thanks.  
  
Their appearance at the ball had been a success. He had swept in, his dragonhide jacket feathering in his swagger through the glittering ball gowns and glinting crowns, wielding Belle on his arm for a grandiose touch. She hadn’t realized until that moment why he had wanted her there-and she had to fight a smile when she did. Every woman in the court was staring at her with masks of equal horror and the most intense fascination she’d ever seen. Where they were all clothed in white sparkling tulle, white rabbits meant to sparkle light diamonds, Belle glowed in the candlelight, a simmering coal with the darkest magic literally at her fingertips, magic that those little girls could only ever hope to dream of. Belle herself had not expected to feel such a rush of adrenaline, but she felt taller, more graceful and lithe than she ever had as her father’s clumsy little princess. As perverse as it was, as horribly dark and accursed it should have been, Belle was proud to be on the arm of the Dark One. Her hand rested in his, and she felt the crackling magic in his palms, his skin searing with the heat of power. It burned off of him like an aura, and she drank it in with ever dainty step of her slippered foot. It was poison, but it was such a lovely taste.  
  
Belle had met the old eyes of King Cornelius of the Stormlands and his queen with equal intensity as her companion. An untamable smirk danced at the corners of her lips as the Dark One flourished and captivated the court like a snake, his silver tongue and lilting giggle enchanting in the most egregious way. This earned him several acres of a precarious mountain range in exchange for replenished fields that had been burned by the kingdom’s warring enemies. And all with a snap of his fingers that twisted Belle’s tummy in excitement and sent a shiver down her spine beneath the blood silk of her gown.  
  
Suddenly, Rumpelstiltskin stumbled again, and Belle was almost too late snapping out of her reverie, but she managed catch him by the arm. It wasn’t enough. The poor man’s knees buckled, the weight of his body sending her stumbling until she could gently lower him to the forest floor with a huff, her scarlet silk skirts pooling around her.  Her heart thundered in her ears as she rested his body against hers, the roar of her blood and humming in her veins. Belle felt the rawest kind of fear, the wild animal kind, clawing in her throat, choking her like a plague.  
  
And suddenly, the glittering memory of the ball, of their success, meant nothing in the face of her fear of what was happening to the one person she had in the world. It gripped her like a vice, made her voice into something low, quivering, and weak. She was afraid to say anything. Words were the incantation of reality, after all. “Rumpelstiltskin?”  
  
Names were power; especially one so powerful as his, but even this hardly seemed to rouse him. That wasn’t a good sign. Rumpelstiltskin sighed, muttering something beneath his breath as he slumped, resting his head on her bare shoulder. She felt his warm breath on her décolletage, but it was a rasping pant like a drafty wind in a dungeon. This was not normal- this was  not good .  
  
His body shuddered weakly, as if trying to fight whatever it was that had overcome him.  
  
After they’d left the ball, he hadn’t uttered a word, which was unusual for him. They had strode from the palace with purpose, but the farther they got from the castle and the twinkling lights of the kingdom, the heavier their footfalls, the slower their pace, and then the quieter everything became. She had offered to find them a carriage, but one sharp, silent shake of his head had ended the discussion. The excitement had left Belle with a dreamy sleepiness, glowing with the warmth of what only magic could bring. Rumpelstiltskin had begun to drag his feet. After he stumbled the first time, she realized he was completely emptied.  
  
 _He’s dying_ , Belle suddenly realized.  _He’s dying and I have no idea what to do_.  
  
The enchanted fireflies danced above them whimsically, and for a moment Belle wanted to smash each one between her fingers. But the man in her arms was much more important than fireflies.  
  
“Rumpelstiltskin, please, tell me what’s wrong,” Belle whispered, her voice breaking tightly. He tried to push himself up, the relentless bastard. Belle squeaked as he suddenly slumped back against her, his head resting in the crook of her arm, his eyes rolling up to her face. Belle cradled him, her one arm behind his head, her other hand resting over the cut of his silk shirt and dragonhide, feeling his heart beneath the scales, beneath her fingers, wishing hers would crackle with magic as his did. Her compassion, no matter how strong, couldn’t fix this.  She couldn’t fix this.  
  
They were utterly alone in the shadows, and a sorceress in a pool of blood silk holding a dark god.  
  
Belle knew she couldn’t leave him, but she had nothing, not even an idea of how to help him. She couldn’t panic- she knew it, yet she still felt helplessness cloak them both, a cage she would never find a key to. _ He _was the one who dealt in magic-  he was the one who protected them. Belle bit her lip hard enough to draw blood to stop the desperation, to stop the tremble in her voice, before whispering, “What do I do?”  
  
“Don’t- don’t worry about me, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin sighed, his eyes fluttering, but his voice was all wrong. It was still high, but it was weak, thin and hollow, without his laughter or mockery. It was calm and quiet, and Belle didn’t know what to do with such a sound. “I just… just need a bit of a rest, that’s all…”  
  
“Rest?” Belle felt anger spark in the back of her heart. “Do not lie to me, Rumpelstiltskin. I have to help you-”  
  
The Dark One took a deep breath, his eyes rolling, completely winded. “Just drained,” he murmured. “Need to rest… _ Belle_…”  
  
His little caretaker felt her heart clench tight at the sound of her name on his lips. And then she knew exactly why he’d needed her- he had known this was going to happen, he knew he would be weak, for whatever reason. He knew he would need help. And he trusted her.  
  
Belle was all he had, too.  
  
“Don’t worry,” she whispered softly, the tears she’d fought so hard pooling in her eyes, brushing his hair away from his face. Her eyes alit when his face followed her hand. She smiled in wonder, biting her lip to lock away the joy she felt, the silly giddiness that she could never truly name but felt every time he looked at her. “I’m going to take care of you.”  
  
Tender was her touch, but through the fog of her strange awe, the ground began to tremble, and Belle felt the vibrations through her knees race up her back, stealing her breath and seizing her heart.  _A carriage_. She turned to look behind the way they had come and saw the torches against the darkness of the forest. The need for her presence suddenly became much clearer.  
  
“We have to move off the road,” Belle whispered, more to herself than Rumpelstiltskin. Her petite frame was slight, but strong for her size, and she was able to struggle Rumpelstiltskin up. She put his arm over her shoulders and stumbled off the path into the darkness of the woods, almost hitting a tree in her haste.  
  
The fireflies followed.  
  
 _Damn it_.  
  
“I need you to get rid of them,” she huffed softly, trying to hold him up with all her might. Any little thing that could catch someone’s attention was a danger to them now. Where most people would run from the woods at night, it was going to be their advantage. There was not anything more dangerous than Rumpelstiltskin. When he didn’t respond, Belle jammed her elbow in his side. “Wake up!”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin grunted, swinging his head towards her. She felt his hair tickle her neck, saw his claw move with a sharp twirl in the darkness. Each firefly popped and sizzled, before sputtering out of the air. It seemed a small enough spell, but even that seemed to take more effort out of him than he was worth at the moment.  
  
 _Well_ , she thought with a twinge of relief.  _At least he’s conscious enough to understand me._  
  
Under cover of shadow, Belle hauled Rumpelstiltskin through the woods and through the most terrifying moments in her life. She was completely on her own, with a man’s life in her hands. She had to find them safety, as there was no way they’d be able to get back home. Especially with him so weak, they were completely defenseless, and he was not exactly saintly in most peoples’ eyes. She doubted they would find any welcoming farmers to share a hearth with.  
  
“Come on,” she muttered, her voice going hoarse in the cold night air, both of them shuffling through the underbrush that tore at her skirt and skin. Her hair was falling and her forehead was slick with sweat, but she didn’t slow down.  
  
Not once.  
  
Unfortunately, Belle had no idea where they were going, and after an hour of her muscles screaming in protest at Rumpelstiltskin’s dead weight, she knew she couldn’t last much longer hauling him as he was. He couldn’t either, for that matter. He needed rest. His wheezing and disjointed mumbling tickled her ear and her neck as he leaned heavier onto her support, and she wondered if he really was conscious or not. More importantly, her mind was running a mile a minute-how had this even happened?  
  
Belle had been at the dark castle long enough to know Rumpelstiltskin’s quirks. She knew how he took his tea, exactly what time of the day (and night) he liked to spin his straw, what kind of books he liked to read, how often he worked in his tower with his potions- she even knew he preferred blackberry jam with his breakfast, and that he kept a pair of half-moon spectacles inside the breast pocket of every vest he wore. But in all those weeks, all those months, she had never, not once, seen him yawn, much less get tired. The realization dawned on her that she didn’t even know if he slept.  
  
“I’m going to figure you out once of these days, bloody bastard,” Belle grumbled, pulling his arm tighter around the back of her shoulders as she lugged him further on. She’d come too far and put up with too much of his finicky fancies to let him die on her  now .  
  
Belle, so wrapped up in her thoughts, realized the forest had begun to lighten. She didn’t recognize the area, especially at night, but a rather quiet thundering made itself more pronounced the deeper they traveled through the woods. It took her another moment to realize the sound was water. With that encouragement, she hobbled faster, wishing she could run but knowing if she tried that her legs would give out.  
  
The forest began to thin out more, and when they broke from the shadows into a clearing, Belle fell against a tree, Rumpelstiltskin’s body still draped over her like a cloak. They were at a junction of the Stormlands that met with three terrains, the edge of the woods that hugged the mountains, and beyond was the shimmering sea of grasses. Against the rocks was a waterfall, the source of the noise she’d heard. It was not grand, and Belle had always thought it would be much louder should she ever see one off the pages of a book, but it was still breathtaking. Belle would have been more inclined to admire it if she hadn’t had other things on her mind.  
  
“Come on,” whispered Belle, squeezing his hand as they got closer to the pool. It was as still as glass and just as clear. The bed beneath was a rich, dark blue. Belle laid Rumpelstiltskin down gently, kneeling beside him and placing his head in her lap. She cupped her hands in the water and got him to drink some, though he tried swatting her away. “Just a bit,” she cooed, though she would have preferred tossing him right in had she knew he wouldn’t die on her.  
  
“Just let me alone,” he finally grumbled.  
  
Belle frowned, her nose wiggling, but she refused to fight with him. “Fine,” she huffed, pulling them closer against the base of the rocks so at least they were hidden by the shadow of the falls.  
  
They were far enough from the main road that she knew no one would find them, but she couldn’t take any chances with how weak Rumpelstiltskin was. Belle maneuvered so her back was against the rocks and Rumpelstiltskin’s head was in her lap. Her eyes made their way from the starry sky down to her master’s face, which was as tranquil as the pool of water they drew close to. The lines of his face had smoothed away in sleep, his scales twinkling under the light of the moon.  
  
Belle felt an irresistible urge to touch his skin, scaly or not, and she found herself dusting his hair away from his face, gently petting the wiry locks. She heard him sigh, and a smile lifted her face. She stroked his hair carefully, admiring the smoothness as it ran through her fingers. But the rhythm, the gentle hum and the hush of water was its own lullaby, and Belle’s eyes, stung with exhaustion and heavy with duty, fluttered closed soon after.  
  
_  
  
When Belle opened her eyes, she had the feeling that she’d dreamt something terrible that left her with a wash of relief that she was alive and awake in the real world. She was lying in a patch of sweet grass near the waterfall, under a cloudless dark sky, covered by a familiar dragonhide jacket scented of smoke, lemon, and cedar wood, like the earth after a storm. Near her, a small fire pit had been dug, snapping and crackling merrily.  
  
At least he was all right, enough to move her. She hoped.  
  
Thinking back to the hours before, Belle wearily pushed herself up, her head swimming from exhaustion. She faced the pool of water, still calm and cool against the night, but something was off. A shadow from behind her fell against the waterfall.  
  
An extremely _ large _shadow.  
  
Slowly, Belle turned on a knife’s point.  
  
It was immense, long and lean, all slick scales cut from shadowy garnet, glistening under the glow of the fire. The night wrapped around the beast, black smoke whispered up in lofty plumes from the edges of its snout, completely regal and altogether terrifying, and the tips of its wings, held high and proud, dreaded black as pitch and simmering with cinders, gilded-veined. The horns sharpened its head, but its maw, cut with fangs sharper and longer than swords, gleamed against the reflected light of the water. The tail, long and curving, swayed back and forth methodically. And its eyes were gold, molten and glowing with blood and bones. It was fire and blood and ash in a beast more frightening than anything hell could conjure.  
  
It was a dragon.  
  
And its eyes, the golden eyes, were staring hungrily, unwaveringly, _ dreadfully _right at Belle.  
  
She tasted the air, swallowing the scent of sulfur against the silence in the wake of death, but nothing seemed to be real beyond this small clearing, between her and this monster. The silence, oh seven hells, the  silence was so peaceful, too. The rush of the water and the breeze that caressed the grass, yet the dragon simply waited, watching her, almost smiling grotesquely at the fair maiden.  
  
But the fair maiden did not scream or run or weep, because Belle knew that in the wake of death, that wouldn’t change anything. Instead, she saw the beauty in the ferocity, the utter darkness of the world that bespoke all nightmares. She wondered for a split second in between heartbeats if Rumpelstiltskin could see this from wherever he was. She hoped not. She would rather him remember her in sunlight between curtains of brocade than trembling and ghost white with fear.  
  
The dragon raised its claw, and Belle, on instinct, took a step back, but that was enough.  
  
Suddenly Belle was winded, gasping instead of screaming as the feathered tail caught her up like a child catching a dandelion seed. The dragon’s scales were hot, like a Sahara’s shimmering heat, but it didn’t quell the crippling fear that had brought resolute tears to puddle in Belle’s eyes. She tried to hold on before it tossed her in its mouth, feebly swinging her legs for momentum, but all that resulted was her losing one of her slippers.  
  
The dragon opened its mouth, all flashing swords of teeth and darkened maw that had rendered flesh and swallowed the screams of men. And Belle realized, she  could scream. She could scream for  him , and perhaps he would even hear her. Or maybe he would just know her last thought was of something stronger than loyalty for the man she had grown to know.  
  
Belle braced herself as much as she could, but when nothing happened she opened her eyes and found herself staring at something she couldn’t quite understand. The dragon had plucked her slipper up, dangling it from its claw. Then so extremely gently, it reached up and Belle realized it was offering her slipper to her, like some sort of prince at a ball. Belle blinked, feeling tears she hadn’t remembered crying trailing down her face. Her foot lifted of its own volition and the dragon slipped the shoe back on her dainty foot.  
  
Then, things occurred, as they are wont to do, all at once.  
  
The dragon tossed Belle up into the air, meters above its own stature. The only thing she could hear in the world was wind and words, things she had wanted to say and places she had wanted to see so miniscule now as all she could feel was adrenaline and the rushing heightened awareness of how small she was compared to the grassy earth beneath her.  
  
In the pause it took for her to fall, Belle screamed, and it was primal and filled with all those unspoken secrets, she screamed his name, because she needed him in more ways than just to save her. She had closed her eyes at some point, throwing her arms up and trying to curl into a ball against the awaiting darkness, but then she hit the earth solidly, and she was alive and unbroken.  
  
Wait.  
  
 _No_.  
  
Because the scent of smoke and lemon and cedar wood was fresh and enveloping, and she knew those arms that cradled her now, and she heard the lilting giggle that inspired so many more smiles than she knew what to do with. Belle opened her eyes to Rumpelstiltskin holding her, smoke still twirling from his dragonhide jacket, his scales still warm and brimming with magic, as they are wont to be with dragons.  
  
“Much more exciting than falling from the curtains, wouldn’t you say so, dearie?” he asked, his mossy eyes no longer golden but still alight with the same intensity, playful, as if toying with his meal.  
  
Perhaps he was.  
  
Because Rumpelstiltskin was a dragon.  
  
And suddenly, Belle realized she knew absolutely nothing of the power of true magic.


	2. Born of Brimstone and Flame

Belle scrambled out of Rumpelstiltskin’s arms, shoving him in the chest and stumbling back. The only thing she could hear was her breathing, gasping in air from the adrenaline and the shock and the utter emotion tingling in between her ribs. She stared at him with wide blue eyes and clenched fists. “You…”   
  
Rumpelstiltskin smiled like the smug bastard he knew he was, tapping the pads of his fingers together thoughtfully as he considered his little caretaker. Belle frowned deeply, narrowing her eyes, but she knew to be mad would be a waste of her energy. He would only laugh off her considerations. “You could have told me,” she finally mutters.   
  
“That’s far less fun.”   
  
And she wants so badly to be angry- she had in no way been prepared for  this . But anger was not part of her inner nature; curiosity was, and it won as she stepped closer, biting her lip. Rumpelstiltskin’s face seemed to wilt under his pleased triumph as she approached him. She laid her palm flat against the dragonhide jacket, feathered about the hem of his lapels, and she smiled.   
  
“Let me see it,” Belle said, her blue eyes wide and brimming with the desire to witness in person what books had only ever been able to conjure. Rumpelstiltskin opened his mouth to reject- she saw it in his hands. She could read his hands better than his face or words. “Please,” she murmured with a smile, gathering his hand like a caught bird in both of her own. She felt his fingers twitch, but he didn’t pull away, his mouth open but words having failed him. Belle knew, then, that she had won.   
  
Rumpelstiltskin nodded warily before stepping back, withdrawing his hand like a key from a lock. He busied his fingers with straightening the lapels of his dragonhide, stepping back from her. It was a relief to see after the night before, how magic crackled in the air about him. The scales of his coat bled onto his skin, climbing down his lengthening arms, the feathered drape of his coat unfurling like a living thing from across his shoulders to reveal his tail. It happened in a moment, as long as it took for Belle to gasp.   
  
The dragon watched her, his menacing molten eyes burning and dancing like the fire inside. His gaze was wisdom and destruction.   
  
And Belle was already approaching.   
  
“Incredible,” she breathed, tilting her head up at him, asking lightly, “Does it hurt?”   
  
The beast turned its head.  No.   
  
“Is it terribly hard to do?”   
  
He snorted (in derision, she might have thought, but she wasn’t entirely sure dragons could do that), black smoke twirling from his nostrils, and Belle grinned. She stepped even closer so that she was forced to look up at him, then reached out, palm facing up. “May I?”   
  
The dragon watched her for a moment. Belle was sure he was giving her a look of askance, but she wasn’t sure if dragons could  do that, either. She burst into a smile, then, when he slowly lowered himself, his massive snout hovering before her. His eyes had never been so intense as a human as they were in that moment, and Belle realized he was concentrating very hard on something. Slowly, with the gentlest move, Belle laid her hand on the scales below his eyes. The touch alone was power, his hide brimming with heat and dark magic.   
  
The dragon’s flanks fluttered and his eyes rolled closed.  Peculiar , Belle thought. She leaned up, prodding his mouth with her other hand. The dragon jerked back, almost taking her with him, ruffling Belle’s hair from the slight stir of breeze.   
  
Belle could only giggle, “Open your mouth!”   
  
The look he gave her was utterly confused, and he snorted again.   
  
“I want to see your teeth,” she sighed, impatient as she put her hands on her hips. “You know as well as I that dragon teeth are rare. I’ll never get to see any in my lifetime again.”   
  
The dragon seemed to want to roll his eyes, but that didn’t put off Belle’s delight as he conceded, laying his chin to the ground before her and opening his maw. Belle gasped in wonder. Dragon teeth held magic, of course. Many a hero had used the long fangs as swords, once upon a time, some of them even poisoned, filled with venom that caused the victims to burn alive, inside out. Dragon bone was prized, like the phoenix feather and the eyes of kelpies, used in spells and curses alike. People had killed the glorious beasts for them, and Belle recalled reading somewhere the loss of dragons reduced the kingdom’s magic.   
  
Belle hesitated before peering up at her master over his snout. “If I may.”   
  
Then, she stepped into his awaiting maw, balancing on his lip. She felt the intake of breath, but was not put off. He was not a terribly large beast, though long and elegant, somehow proportional to Rumpelstiltskin in stature of a man. Belle grinned, tracing his sharpened teeth, careful where she placed her slipper as she stood just inside. And Belle realized- the dragon’s breath didn’t smell like rotting flesh and carrion. It was actually… pleasant.   
  
She hopped out of his mouth quickly. He morphed back into a man almost before she could turn to face him, delighting her with his talented use of magic all the more. He pursed his lips and almost spat, a distasteful look twisting his face. “Why was that necessary?” he asked, kneeling down and cupping his hand in the pool, sipping the water. “Your little slippers are filthy.”   
  
Belle grinned, kneeling down in the sweet grass and letting her skirt billow out around her. “Your breath smelled nice,” she said conversationally after a minute, and Rumpelstiltskin looked at her as if he didn’t know quite what to make of her (that was a common look he wore). “What was that, anyway?”   
  
The Dark One paused, before sliding over to sit near, keeping an arm’s length between them as he crossed his legs. He looked down, clearing his throat. “Eucalyptus,” he said, pausing and glancing at her timidly as if ready for her to strike him. “Dragons love it. I’ve adopted a few of their tendencies the longer I’m in that form.”   
  
Belle stared at him, drinking in the words with a pounding heart and jittery hands. “How do you do it?”   
  
Rumpelstiltskin rolled his head to the side and she could hear the popping of his neck bones, which always made her wince. Honestly, if he were any other man he’d be gnarled and arthritic with that bad habit, but Belle suspected perhaps it took a toll on him to stretch and morph into such a distinct form. She also wondered if, as the Dark One, he even suffered from physical ailments. She’d never seen him sick…   
  
“Years of practice,” he finally said, heaving a sigh. “And even more discipline and magic.”   
  
Belle raised an eyebrow, feeling suddenly very vulnerable at the thought of what this might mean. “What kind of price must you pay, to be able to afford such magic?” she asked, plucking a dandelion by his boot.   
  
His eyes followed her for a moment before he cleared his throat. “Not as costly as you might expect.”   
  
“No?” Her smile was amused, glancing at him under her lashes. “I thought-” She whipped her hands out in a grandiose fashion, her fingers twittering gaily. “ All magic comes with a price! ”   
  
Rumpelstiltskin made a sound that was not quite a giggle at the back of his throat as he watched her mockery appreciatively. “That it does,” he said sneered.   
  
“Well, then, what did you pay in exchange for such power?” Belle began to pluck off the seeds, blowing them off the tip of her fingers so they caught in the air. They danced in the firelight and casting little shadows along the ground.   
  
“Nothing,” Rumpelstiltskin shrugged his shoulders, watching her intently. He seemed to consider her question for a moment. “You must change your way of thinking about magic, dearie. In the great exchange, it’s not the magic that’s the dealer.”   
  
Belle paused in her ministrations, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. “Isn’t all magic power?”   
“Think of it more as a currency. It can be gained and lost, saved and wasted. It’s something that you can keep until you otherwise find use for it.”   
  
“Like hoarding money?” Belle tilted her head, thinking this over. Where did one put it all? She smiled slyly at her master then, ruffling her nose. “Does that make you as miserly as I always suspected?”   
  
“I prefer the word frugal,” Rumpelstiltskin said, shifting in the grass as if he were uncomfortable. “The more magic I have- and I have quite a sum, coming with the territory as being as old as I am-the bigger and more complex things I can do. I save it and keep it close. And it is for that reason I can conquer kingdoms in an hour.”   
  
Belle began to beam, scooting closer and suddenly not caring a flying fig if she rubbed grass stains into the sea silk, sitting near his knees, ever a child in hopes of being told a story.    
  
Rumpelstiltskin pursed his lips at her suddenly close proximity, but did not shy away. “Can other people turn into animals?”   
  
The Dark One nodded sagely, his shadowed eyes glittering mischievously in thought. “Oh, to be sure,” he paused. “Very few, though, can master something as impressive as a dragon.”   
Belle rolled her eyes, trying to smother her smile and failing. The man’s ego was impressive, she’d give him that much. “Even this so called Evil Queen of yours?”   
  
“Last I heard she could manage a mouse, though she’s been having some trouble dealing with an Owl of late,” Rumpelstiltskin clucked, before adding rather darkly. “And she is anything but  my queen, dearie.”   
  
“Oh?” Belle raised her eyebrows, leaning her elbow on his knee, inclining her head. Their voices had dropped lower, quiet. “You talk so often of her. I assumed-”   
  
“Assumption gets people killed.”   
  
The sharpness of his tone startled Belle, and it took all her power to not bow her head in apprehension. But she had told herself long ago she would not bow to Rumpelstiltskin, and it had served her well these past few months. In fact, in the face of his darkest moments, she had kept that resolve and it had earned her what she hoped was respect, or at least a deeper type of acceptance to hold the same level of ground he alone was master of. His mood swings never ceased to take her off guard, though.   
  
“You hoard magic like you do your golden thread,” Belle said after a moment, looking down at the laces of his boots. How many cold, late nights had she welcomed him home from a dark deal, unlacing those monstrosities with a simple threading spell he’d taught her so he could warm himself by the fire? His smile, kind and almost affectionate, was worth it in those moments. “And yet you hardly seem to care about the thread you spin. What do you gain with so much magic that you’ll never use?”   
  
Rumpelstiltskin stared at her, his face carefully composed of any emotion, and that alone told Belle he was hiding something. His eyes wavered on her face, and she realized he was holding his breath until he looked away, muttering darkly, “Who says I won’t.”   
  
Belle raised her eyebrows, opening her mouth to press him further, but Rumpelstiltskin jumped up from his seat in the grass. “Come along, dearie, we have a walk to continue,” he said, flicking his wrist toward their fire. In a harsh but short lived gust, the fire blew out, and Belle felt coldness prickle her shoulders and the back of her neck at the sudden loss of warmth.   
  
“Wait- in the dark?” Belle called, scrambling up and nearly tripping over her skirts in her earnest to catch up with his quick stride. He was heading toward the valley overlooked by the mountains. She nearly tripped, but Rumpelstiltskin’s arm shot out and caught her under arms. His eyes were glittering dangerously, his smile not the softened one she’d grown to know so well, but the twisted sneer of the Dark One, that being he became when he pushed everything else away to focus on some blacker purpose.   
  
“No need to fear the darkness, dearie,” he hissed in her ear, his breath tickling her hair as he straightened her up against his side almost unbearably close. “I’m the tales warn your children of.”   
  
The cold brushed against her back, but the heat from Rumpelstiltskin’s touch burned, and Belle felt a flush rise in her cheeks as she looked up at him. Feeling apprehensive, she knew he was slipping into a shadow of that thing that clawed his mind, she’d seen it happen so many times before, and though every voice in her head urged her back, shouted caution, told her  no, stop, go back, turn away from this \- she only stepped closer. His arms were darkness and fury, but she knew without any of those whispers of doubt that they would be her towers, her protection against the cold and darkness.   
  
Resting her hands just inside the lapels of his dragonhide, far closer than she’d ever gotten to him before, Belle shivered when she felt his arm come around behind her. The look of his face, that mask he wore with such comfort, seemed to slip at her touch like a dying leaf from an autumn tree, and he watched her move in wonder, his breath brushing her face, scented with earthy spirits and herbs and that underlying note of eucalyptus. “Why did you want me here?” she whispered, curling closer to him, the strong scent of storm and soil wrapping around her.   
  
To her soft surprise, Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes flickered in the deepest sadness, but it was only there for a moment, like a ripple in a pond. He brushed one of her curls away from her face, not so much tender as he seemed afraid it would bite him, careful not to touch her skin as he tucked it back, his voice low and deep and sending shivers racing up her spine under silk. “I’m simply keeping an eye on what’s mine,” he murmured, and then he did something that was so unlike himself, Belle nearly fell at his feet. Rumpelstiltskin leaned forward, and kissed her on the crown of her head. “And making sure that all is taken care of.”   
  
-   
  
For a man who had seemed to be perilously close to death only hours before, with a little rest Rumpelstiltskin was more animated than he ever had been as they climbed. That shadow had fled from his mind in the early dawn, though she had felt him brooding as they had begun their decent. As the morning came, he’d returned to his spritely self. She’d suffered these shades many times, and it hurt her but she found that just standing alongside him often served as a good antidote for that inner voice of his that was his power and curse.   
  
Now, though, Belle was dragging, exhaustion and frustration dulling her inhibitions. She continued to step on the hem of her ridiculous gown along the rocky path, mumbling curses she’d only ever heard the soldiers of home use, but Rumpelstiltskin slowed his easy gait, being much more patient with her than he ever had. It was taking them longer than it normally would have had he just snapped his fingers and let them appear at their destination.   
  
Belle had voiced her thoughts on the matter, and her master had only clucked his tongue and replied, “My silly little Belle, we both have perfectly good sets of legs. Why on earth would we need magic to move us?”   
  
Belle would have liked to argue, but it was useless when he was like this. She begrudged him his buoyancy, frowning as he hopped over rocks in those ridiculous boots that by rights should have been tripping him up just as much as her own outfit. Then again, a few hundred years in the same shoes, and Belle guessed one would have perfected their step.   
  
Well, except her, who couldn’t seem to balance on a flat surface. Honestly, if it wasn’t for her master’s quick hand and ever vigilant eye, she would’ve fallen off the mountain  hours ago.   
  
Finally reaching a relatively level landing on the crag, Rumpelstiltskin gazed down below, admiring the drop off the side of the mountain that opened into the valley where they had been hours ago, sitting by a fireside and whispering of magic. Belle stopped at his arm, taking in the lovely scenery, her breath leaving dispelling when she witnessed the expanse of the forest for the first time. In all her life, she’d always known it to be massive, but not like this. It was a sea of enchantment.   
  
He’d stilled, almost to the point she wondered if he was even breathing. He cut against the sky like he was made of stone, and it disturbed her, having grown so fond of the restlessness he embodied. “Rumpelstiltskin, what are we doing here?” she asked quietly, glancing up at him.   
  
The Dark One turned to her, his eyes crinkled in golden scaled sadness, and he was smirking. Somehow that made it worse, but he leaned forward and giggled, “Surveying my new investment.”   
  
Belle glanced down at the crag that they hovered over, swallowing. She was brave for many reasons, but her lack of love for high places was not one of them. She couldn’t be sure she’d regained her heart from the last time he’d tossed her up in the air, and she certainly wasn’t going to meet Rumpelstiltskin on the edge. She preferred the spot behind his arm, standing just behind him. “Please tell me it has nothing to do with heights again,” she squeaked.   
Rumpelstiltskin made a high pitched hum in the back of his throat, bordering on his patent giggle before he took one step.   
  
And walked off the ledge.   
  
Belle screamed his name, throwing herself forward instinctively to grab him, hitting the ledge with her palms just in time to witness the fluid transformation from man to beast, his wings unfurling in shimmering black billows of smoke, born of brimstone and flame. She watched breathlessly as the dragon tilted its body as it curved about the mountain, its tail flowing like a wisp in the wind before disappearing around the mountain. For a moment, everything was silent, and Belle heard the all too familiar clamor of swords and shouts of military men.   
  
Oh no.   
  
“Rumpelstiltskin?” Belle called, her voice just above a whisper, but it echoed across the crag. She searched desperately with her eyes for any sign of him, hating that she was burdened to watch and wait with no set plan. He never-   
  
“There it is!”   
  
Belle’s eyes snapped down, seeing the cluster of men in the valley on horseback. A wave of them were storming the mountain, making their way up the same perilous path that Rumpelstiltskin and Belle had traversed not hours before. It was only then she noticed the small pebbles falling from the upper ledge behind her, and by that time his tail had wound its way around her and yanked her up through the air. Belle screamed, holding on for her life, his scales just as warm and smooth as she remembered. He dangled her in front of him, tears in her eyes from the wind that whipped at her face.   
  
His fiery gaze was intense, regarding her thoughtfully and mournfully. Belle met his stare unflinching, and even though the face was fearsome and terrifying, she knew underneath who he was. She always had, and no new set of scales would ever change that, even if he could shake her like a doll easier than before.   
  
Belle glared at him, hissing through her teeth. “What do you think you’re doing? Put me dow-”   
  
A command shouted from below, “Archers at the ready!”   
  
Belle jerked, kicking her feet helplessly, shooting a panicked look to the beast before her. She struggled against his firm but safe grip. “They’re going to shoot you, get us out of here!”   
  
The dragon tilted its head at her, as if bowing, before closing its eyes. He threw his head back and let a roar shake the earth that trembled the mountains. Belle threw her hands up, covering her ears. She felt the heat brush her face and blow her hair, knowing his flames must swallow the sky. She heard the shouts, the commands from below, and felt her heart drop somewhere off the side of the mountain as she realized he was luring the soldiers right to them. It was why he’d bought the mountains. In this kingdom, he was the beast to be conquered, she playing the damsel in distress.   
  
Oh, she was going to  slay him.


	3. A Beast Ensnared

Legend wrote that The Spinner turned straw into gold, stole away babes in the night, and made one’s darkest desires the bane of their choices. He threaded one’s life with misfortune and used their own hand to tie the tethers together in a web that they could never untangle.   
  
Or so the legend said.   
  
But as Belle dangled in the feathered grasp of the dragon’s tail, watching from above the foggy crag as the brave yet foolhardy soldiers charged up the rocky path to face the fell beast that held her captive, she realized the elders who spoke to their children by the fires had it wrong. Somewhere along the line of hundreds of years where the stories fell from mouth to ear, they had lost the underlying fact that the world was a court full of jesters and pawns. And Rumpelstiltskin was king.   
  
Belle would have been impressed had she not been so completely  irritated at him. Or petrified of him dropping her off the cliff he swung her over (really, it was a fine line). He was perched on the high top of the cliff, his wings, simmering with embers in the webbing, held aloft just as high and proud as Rumpelstiltskin’s showy hand gestures. Every move he made sent a shower of rocks raining down the crag, and any soldier who had the sense of mind to throw their shields up in time were fortunate.   
  
In one of the many books she’d found in his library, Belle had read that dragons often frequented several kingdoms at once. So it made sense to her that Rumpelstiltskin would disguise himself as a dragon, serving as the kingdom’s beast-to-be-slain, which meant he must hoard treasure in a den- probably right beneath them, if past legends she knew held true. It would then make sense why he would want a mountain range, to protect his investments.   
  
Well he could be damn sure she wasn’t going to be taking care of  that .   
  
But in the back of her mind, something troubled her. The pieces were there, and fit ever so nicely, but she couldn’t stop thinking of the Spinner, or his craft of turning straw into gold.   
  
“You could have told me you were up to something!” Belle shouted at him, knowing the wind would mask her words to everyone below. She beat her fist against his tail, knowing it did no good except make her feel a little validated. “You  stupid man! You’re going to get us both killed for the sake of a kingdom you don’t even  want !”   
  
The dragon snorted, smoke twirling from his nostrils as he whipped his tail forward, dangling her before his eyes. Belle faced him fearlessly, for she knew she had nothing to be afraid of from  this beast.   
  
“You don’t need a caretaker, you need a keeper!”   
  
The dragon stilled and stared at her for such a long moment, Belle became worried. Worried that she wasn’t imagining the sadness in those eyes of his, the flickering pain that danced like fire. She knew Rumpelstiltskin, at least in part, and she knew his dealings were never one dimensional. That was also cause to worry.   
  
A distorted shout from below gave her presence of mind to remember they weren’t alone on the rocks, and suddenly a slash of pain radiated up her body. Belle cried out, jerking hard in the beast’s tail, and felt him loose her from his grasp. She fell, hitting the rocky path just below with a resounding  crunch . Head throbbing, pain radiating up her back, and the trickle of blood dripping down her arm from where she’d been grazed by the arrow made for an unpleasant combination.   
  
The dragon roared in fury above her and the haze of the fog, and Belle saw other arrows sling past, some connecting but never breaking his hardened scales. She had the passing wonder if anyone in the kingdom could  read \- it was written knowledge that dragon scales were almost as hard as diamonds, nigh impenetrable. Either the arrows were laced with magic (doubtful) or their commander was very, very stupid.   
  
Belle knew where she’d cast her lot on such a bet.   
  
She gathered herself up, her hand going to her shoulder quickly. The torn skin had been cut deep and raggedly, and the sight of Belle’s own ripped flesh and blood left her dizzy. She turned her face away, breathing through her nose. The metallic taste hung thick like a heavy perfume and curdled her stomach. Instead, she focused on the shouting she could hear from the soldiers beyond the roar of the dragon. She began the short climb back up to the path when the close proximity of voices froze her to the rocks. She knew those voices.   
  
“Sir, the lady said to draw the beast out of the crag,” one of the soldiers said, but broke off suddenly from a shower of rocks hitting his shield. Belle ducked, holding herself tight while straining her ears.   
  
“I’m well aware of that, lieutenant. Until you think of a better idea, keep making it angry.”   
  
“Yes, Sir Gaston.”   
  
Belle nearly bit through her lip, peeking around the rock’s edge and hoping that Gaston was a more common name than she realized. Alas, her sight was met with the same tall, thin figure she’d known for so many years. Impressively, he wore no armor, and though some might think it arrogant, when he’d explained to her the necessity for freedom of movement in battle, Belle had thought there might be hope for his wit yet. Instead, he dressed plainly in cool greys, a camouflage she realized. Though why he was in this part of the kingdom, she had no idea.   
  
But she was about to find out.   
  
The rock connected solidly with the back of Gaston’s neck, not hard enough to knock him out but certainly enough to leave a rather sizable bruise. His answering unsheathing of his sword as he whirled on her was flattering, but then again she allowed him his nerves under the shadow of a dragon that was currently preoccupied with ravaging his men.   
  
“Easy!” Belle exclaimed, and she found herself fighting a smile and a giggle. The thought of meeting Gaston again, let alone under such circumstances was so absurd it was almost comical.   
  
Gaston’s dark eyes widened, his handsome face smoothing away into shock. “Belle?”   
  
A smile broke across her face. She hadn’t realized she’d missed the oaf until seeing him again, a remnant of her old life, of girlhood before her time of rescuing sorcerers and taming dragons. Gaston was at her side in moments, his arm wrapped around her while his other hand cradled her jaw. His own look of disbelief melted into alarm, his eyes flashing. She could only imagine how he saw her- bedraggled and bloodied, her dress stained with grass and dirt, her hair fallen and her face cut. “You look horrible, Belle- are you-” Gaston made a strangled noise at seeing her bloodied shoulder, and Belle grimaced when he gripped her tighter.   
  
“One of your men,” she supplied. “A stray.”   
  
“I’ll have them drawn and quartered.”   
  
Belle didn’t know if it was from the lack of sleep or the blood loss, but she wanted to giggle at the obscene notion. “I don’t think that is warranted,” she said after a moment, before pulling back. “But you must tell your men to abandon this venture. I am in no danger.”   
  
Gaston tilted his head quizzically, his eyes narrowing. “We’re not here for you, Belle.”   
  
That brought the once princess up short, and she swallowed hard, fearing what words might come next. “If not me, what are you here for?” she asked.   
  
Looking down at his feet, her former fiancé looked more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him, and a great deal more frustrated. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the movements overhead. Through the dense fog, the dragon circled above them restlessly. “There was a deal,” he told her, his words running together almost incoherently. “If I slayed the dragon that guarded the trinity of the lands- forest, field, and rock-I would gain what I lost.”   
  
Belle narrowed her blue eyes at him. “Gaston,” she spoke slowly, deliberately. “Who did you make this deal with?”   
  
A flying scream soared above them, and Gaston grabbed Belle and shoved her down as a sea of men were hurled off the side of the crag, rocks raining down above them. She was pressed uncomfortably tight against the ground, and heard Gaston muffle a curse in the back of her neck before he hoisted her up. “Good, they’ve brought him out.”   
  
Belle shouldered out of Gaston’s arms, running to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the valley. The dragon was picking men up with his teeth and tail, tossing them aside as they thrust spears up against his flanks. More of them poured out of the forest, and suddenly Belle realized that none of this was going according to plan. At least not her master’s plan.   
  
“Make them stop-” Belle whirled on Gaston, her eyes alight with blue fire. “Make them stop!”   
  
“Hardly,” her former fiancé scoffed. “How many men can say they’ve trapped a dragon?”   
  
“That’s not a dragon, Gaston!” Belle cried, her hands tugging the back of her hair insistently. “That’s Rumpelstiltskin!”   
  
Gaston’s derision melted away hearing the words, and Belle wondered for a moment whether she had made a mistake in telling him the truth. His face became serious, darkened and he grabbed her elbow. “You mean he’s…” he shook his head. He was in too deep to care, whatever this deal he’d made had its snares in him. “That’s none of my concern. I was ordered to capture him, and so I shall.”   
  
Belle blinked, frowning at the words that didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand.”   
  
Before Gaston could reply, a bellow carried across the valley, and all of the soldiers with spears retreated two paces away from the beast. From three different sides out of the woods came volleys of arrows, tethered with what appeared to be rope. They fell in a tangle across the dragon’s back before they were tightened, and Belle’s eyes quickly adjusted to the distance to see they were creating a net. To think Rumpelstiltskin, let alone a dragon, could be caught in something so frivolous as rope was laughable, but the soldiers on opposing sides tightened the ropes, and Belle’s heart began to double over when she saw the beast being forced down until it lay upon the ground.   
  
Why wasn’t he fighting back?   
  
“Magic,” Gaston must have seen her confusion, and Belle looked up at him sharply. “The rope is blessed with a spell. Actually, a few.”   
  
Belle’s blood roared in her ears, staring at the beast who tried to beat his wings, but the soldiers only secured the net tighter. Belle pushed away from Gaston, making quick work of the mountain pass, taking the same steps Rumpelstiltskin had shown her that morning. She could practically hear the sing-song lilt in his voice until her feet hit grassland.   
  
“My lady, don’t!”   
  
Belle ducked under ropes, swinging herself around until she was beside his head. His eyes were closed, his breathing harsh and short. Her mind raced, trying to decipher what in the world his plan for this was. How could she help him if he never shared with her? How could she aid him if she didn’t know his intentions?   
  
Belle reached out and laid her hand on his scaly snout, just beside his eye, which opened at her touch. Wide and frantic, until he saw that it was her, he relaxed, that molten gold reducing from a churning to a soft simmer. Belle knelt down, ignoring the gaping and the gasps and the calls of the soldiers to get her away. She reached through the net and petted his scales, whispering, “Can you change back?”   
  
He turned his head ever so slightly.  No.   
  
Belle swallowed thickly, keeping her hand where it was. She had hoped to give some sort of comfort, to ensure him that she hadn’t abandoned him when she’d fallen, but she was taking more security out of being close. “What can I do?”   
  
The dragon’s maw twitched, and Belle thought he meant to smile.   
  
“I’m going to free you,” Belle murmured, even when he closed his eyes. “I’m going to free you, Rumpelstiltskin.”   
  
“Girl, you must get back!”   
  
Belle jumped, falling back on her rear end at the sudden burst of light and color before her eyes. She threw her hand up, swatting at the sudden intrusion and heard an offended gasp. When she looked up she was met with a small blue light- rather, a small blue person. Before she could find her voice, Gaston was hauling her up and away from the dragon, heedless of Belle’s struggle.   
  
“You’re sure the net won’t break?” Gaston asked. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword.   
The Blue Fairy flew near his shoulder. “It will not. It can neither burn nor snap through the magical bindings, and it will be powerful enough to hold it until you make your…” the fairy wrinkled her nose in distaste. “ Transaction .”   
  
“Rest assured, I think it is safe to say I have fulfilled my end of this deal,” Gaston muttered, shooting a withering look at the fairy.   
  
“You can’t do this,” Belle pushed Gaston’s hands away, glaring up at the little woman in blue. She pointed her finger and felt a rush of satisfaction when the gnat woman fluttered back. “You’re of the magical kin, you know that it is lawfully against your powers to destroy another magical being.”   
  
The fairy’s eyes burned for a moment, but Belle stood her ground, everything Rumpelstiltskin had taught her in the past months churning to the forefront of her mind. He’d taught her well, even if she only did know a few simple spells to help with chores, their conversations had strayed to things as meaningless as dust motes to things as complex as the levels of magic- and she had not been quick to forget just why he loathed fairy magic. They were bound by laws, just most assuredly as Rumpelstiltskin himself was. She couldn’t fight the smile that tweaked her lips. “Yes, I know quite a lot about the dealings fairies dabble in. It’s not as innocent as a bag of dust.”   
  
“That is all very well,” the Blue Fairy hissed, her hand tightening around her wand. The fairy seemed to darken in color with her mood, glaring at Belle. Her wings began to flutter irately, but she lifted her chin proudly and Belle felt a little less sure about herself. The fairy’s lips curled back over her teeth. “ If we planned on killing it.”   
  
Him , Belle’s mind immediately supplied.   
  
“Dragons are a vast store of magic, but that is only true if they’re alive,” the Blue Fairy said, her hands grasping her wand tighter. “Your prince has made a deal to retrieve the beast in exchange for whatever treasure it guards.”   
  
Belle stared at the little gnat woman uncomprehendingly.   
  
“That would be  you .”   
  
Belle opened her mouth to dispute- Gaston wasn’t her prince, Rumpelstiltskin wasn’t truly a beast, and she was not a prize to be won, but she shook her head. More pressing questions must be answered. “And the dragon?”   
  
Gaston tilted the hilt of his sword down. “The Evil Queen’s had a bounty on its head for some time, it seems,” he shrugged gently, ignoring the disapproving look the dark fairy gave him as he met Belle’s eyes. “And after seeing the reaping of rewards, I’m glad to have lent my service.”


	4. A Monster's Death

It had taken a full bag of fairy dust to magic the dragon away, and Gaston had to restrain Belle to keep her from smashing the Blue Fairy between her palms or hurting anyone else. “You’re giving him to the Evil Queen!” she shouted, fighting against Gaston’s strong and capable arms that pinned her back to his chest.   
  
“This was  your prince’s transaction,” the Blue Fairy replied tartly.   
  
“He’s  not my prince,” Belle snarled the words, satisfied when the little gnat fluttered back.   
  
Only after Belle had ceased her thrashing did Gaston release her, frowning in her direction before looking up at the fairy with a curt nod. “Thank you for your assistance,” he said quietly.

The fairy sent one last stinging glare at Belle, curtseying in her ridiculous dress before she disappeared in a puff of candy pink smoke. Belle immediately rounded on Gaston and threw her finger in his face. “You are an ignorant fool, Gaston Laveau,” Belle hissed, her temper boiling to the point she felt the few sparks of magic that she did possess crackle at her fingertips. “Not only have you trapped one of the most powerful forces of the realms, you delivered him into the clutches of the most evil being at our opposition!”   
  
Gaston glared down at her, finally planting his feet. “I rescued you from that monster.”   
  
“He is  not  a monster!”   
  
“He was a dragon.”   
  
“Yes, but not a real one!” Belle fisted her hands at her sides. Rumpelstiltskin was her responsibility, why he’d brought her along in the first place. He was her master, her deal maker, and her- her-   
  
Gaston suddenly clasped her by the arms and brought her forward with surprising gentleness, lowering his chin so his eyes gazed directly into hers, drinking the fire and defiance there. “Belle,” he murmured quietly. “For just a moment-forget my saving you, forget princes and princesses. You’re free. You’re free of that deal, free of your confinement, free of the Dark One. Don’t you understand what that means? You can go home.”   
  
Belle’s anger quelled, staring at Gaston as if she didn’t know him. Perhaps she never had. It was true, with Rumpelstiltskin gone, her deal would be dissolved. Everyone he’d ever made a deal with would be free from their debts. The Dark One would be a curse the world would be rid of.   
  
But he’d trusted her. She’d been at his side, almost like a…   
  
“No,” Belle shook her head, rolling her shoulders out of his hands and wincing at her wound. “No, he needs me. And we’re getting him back,” she threw her finger up in his face again. “And getting out of this mess you’ve started.”   
  
Gaston’s face darkened with his scowl. “Is it so terrible, Belle?”   
  
The once-Princess hesitated at the words. Was it? Gaston was superficial, but he wasn’t… he wasn’t cruel. He was doing what he was brought up to do, to slay monsters and rescue damsels. He was doing what his life was set out for him to do. If it was what he wanted, to win honor and a princess’ hand, who was she to stop him?    
  
He’d just simply found the wrong princess.   
  
“People will remember you for this, Gaston,” Belle said with a slight smile. “A fool who righted his mistake. They’ll write songs about it. But I am going to rescue Rumpelstiltskin, whether you come with me or not.”   
  
Gaston frowned, watching Belle for a long moment before he shouted the command to his men to fall in line. Belle let her smile grow in relief, and her former knight shook his head, “You’ve always been so odd, Belle.”   
  
“I’ve been told.”   
  
After he took the time to wrap her shoulder, tearing off a slip of her gown and tying a knot so tight it brought tears to her eyes, Gaston drew out his map and showed Belle their location in respect to the Evil Queen’s palace. It was at least a day and a half on foot.   
  
Belle passively wondered how long it would take to fly.   
  
“Her palace is heavily guarded, not to mention the black knight that leads her army,” Gaston frowned at the marker on the map.   
  
“And magical wards.”   
  
The men all looked up at her, raising eyebrows. She blinked, tilting her head. “Well, that’s why she wanted the dragon,” she explained. “To use its magic. Its blood, bones, scales- they all have magical properties. Rumpelstiltskin told me she’s looking for more power. This would be her reaping day.”   
  
Gaston’s lieutenant winced. “My lady, we cannot fight against magic.”   
  
“Well, no one said you had to, lieutenant,” Belle smiled to herself, leaning forward over the map, her eyes dragging along the boundaries of the castle. “We simply must battle with our wits, and no one yet has been able to win that war with me, sir.”   
  
It wasn’t until after they’d begun the journey that Belle’s more pressing thoughts invaded her space. If the Evil Queen had Rumpelstiltskin and didn’t know it, there was more than a disadvantage. She needed him alive to draw the magic out, but after she had finished, Belle wasn’t sure what she would do. Disposing of such an ancient creature was almost against the law- there had to be something somewhere that forbade it.    
  
On the other hand, if Rumpelstiltskin revealed himself for who he was, if the Evil Queen knew just exactly who she had caught in her net, the consequences could be even worse. Belle had to hope, then, that the process of  stealing magic was tedious enough to buy her time to make it to him.   
  
Gaston helped Belle upon his own horse, a beautiful grey that was half Belle’s height. Had Gaston not been riding with her, she most certainly would’ve fallen off, and though the conditions weren’t favorable, she didn’t object to him keeping her in the saddle, especially when they began galloping across the grasslands. Belle squeaked in surprise and held onto the horse’s mane with a desperate grip. She’d not been allowed to ride horses so fast back home-it was both thrilling and terrifying.   
  
It was nearing sunset when they crested a hill that Gaston nudged her with his arm. “That’s the castle,” he pointed out, and Belle gasped at the sight of it. The Evil Queen’s fortress looked like a bouquet of blades planted in the forest, and as their small party thundered through the forests and splashed across the rivers, it only grew in size, and Belle suddenly felt very, very unsure of herself.   
  
What match were they against such power? She had dwarfed her perception of Rumpelstiltskin when she looked past his scales and sneers and found warmth and kindness. She knew he was powerful, but his power was little next to his honest smile and soft words. Yet this queen, Belle knew little of her except that she had proved to be a growing annoyance for her employer. And something that could annoy Rumpelstiltskin could not be anything good.   
  
They reined in about a mile out from the border, dismounting under the cover of the woods. When Gaston lifted Belle from his horse and set her feet to the forest floor, she nearly crumpled over herself. Her legs shook beneath her, her muscles sore and aching and sapped of energy. The wound on her shoulder felt like it was ripping open with every turn of her body. She would be useless like this, but all she had to do was find Rumpelstiltskin and release him. If she could just get to him, she knew he would be able to get them out, unharmed and safe.    
  
Gaston spoke with his lieutenant quickly, his words creating a cloud in the cold air, “I will lead the charge at the gate and make the demands. This queen will do well-”   
  
“You will do no such thing,” Belle snorted, leaning back against the trunk of one of the great oaks. The men turned to stare at her, and the caretaker smiled apologetically. “Gaston, this is a woman with magic. Granted you can get past the enchantments and her own guards, I doubt storming up to her fortress’ entrance and making demands will go over smoothly. We must be smart.”   
  
“Belle, I’ve led attacks in the heat of some of the bloodiest battles. I know how to deal with an enemy.”   
  
“But that’s just it, you do not!” Belle snapped, and her anger had pushed her to her feet. Something inside her, deep from within her chest and the past that she had learned to ignore was growling, sharp teeth and coiled tension. “You do not know how to deal at all. You blunder and stalk about and charge directly at your opponent, but that is for war, Gaston. This is not war, it is a game, and you will kill us all.”   
  
The soldiers, all clad in armor gleaming under the dying sunlight, shifted uneasily at the words, glancing between their commander and the Dark One’s…whatever she was. Gaston held Belle’s gaze, his brown eyes filled with confusion and frustration. He took two long strides before planting himself in front of her, and Belle thought he might make to bat her back. Instead, he sighed noisily and muttered, “What would you have me do?”   
  
Belle recalled what little Rumpelstiltskin had taught her about magic. His own Dark Castle was tucked away in the snowy mountains, with some forest and a lake, but no running water. There were no rivers anywhere close, and yet that seemed to Belle to be a key difference.   
  
“That river we passed,” she said, looking between Gaston and his lieutenant. “It runs through her lands, does it not?”   
  
“It does, my lady,” the lieutenant answered with a meager bob of his head. “Flows beneath the fortress.”    
  
“Then that is our way in,” Belle nodded to herself. “We shall move under cover of nightfall in case of watchmen. If a river runs through her land, that means there must a grating, an exitway of the flow through the boundary,” Belle looked up into Gaston’s face, hoping she wasn’t imagining the light of understanding and appreciation there. “If your men can break the grating, we can gain entrance.”   
  
“What of the enchantments?” one of the men asked doubtfully.   
  
“Magic is very specific,” Belle said, a smile beginning to lift her face. “It can mold itself to a solid object, but when there is a disruption-a hole, a window, a door-it leaves openings in the spell’s bind. Like a piece of lace,” she added, though in hindsight knew it was silly to expect seasoned soldiers to pick up the comparison. “An outlet for the river would be unprotected because it is separate from the spell. It must be unprotected to let water pass through, and if water can exit, we can enter.”   
  
Gaston stared at Belle as if he’d never truly looked at her before, and the once-princess felt a blush rise in her face. “Where did you learn all of this?” he asked, tilting his head toward her.   
  
Belle bowed sheepishly under the appraisal of her former fiance. Looking down, her gown that had been so brilliant mere hours before now ruined. A gift, a memorable detail of her one time as Rumpelstiltskin’s…    
  
Her one time as Rumpelstiltskin’s.    
  
Mistress, caretaker, companion, friend. Did the word truly matter? Belle had struggled to find an identity in the Dark Castle at Rumpelstiltskin’s side, but the truth was that she was his. The title didn’t matter beyond that, not to her.   
  
Belle smiled gently, “Perhaps I’ll tell you one day. It  is  the most wonderful story.”   
  
The river was freezing, and by the time they were able to wade up to the grate, Belle was practically blue skinned. Her teeth were chattering so hard she had to clench her jaw in an attempt to be quiet. Several times she’d feared the current would carry her off, but Gaston’s hand shot out more than once to catch her arm when she’d misstep and slip. She’d never been thankful for his wandering hands, but in this instance, she was grateful for his lingering gaze, knowing it was protective and not leering.   
  
It took four men ramming their shoulders to dislodge the grating, and Belle herself stepped forward to be the first to breach the boundary. The others still looked warily at the stones, fearing what magical enchantments could do should they try to defy it. But Belle slid through, grasping the stones against the current as she waded. Only when she didn’t scream or cry out in pain or fear did the men follow her, and they continued their journey up river under the cloudy nightfall. The black water rushed beneath the palace, and Belle didn’t want to imagine what it might be used for, but they followed it into an underground tunnel where it met a shallow dirt shore.   
  
“We’re in the palace, aren’t we?” Belle whispered, trying to be discreet as she dragged herself out of the water.   
  
Gaston followed her closely, pulling his cloak from his shoulders and abandoning it on the ground. “Yes, this should be the dungeons,” he cast a baleful look at Belle. “I doubt your dragon is small enough to fit in an ordinary cell, though.”   
  
“Indeed not,” Belle sighed. “I don’t know where she would kee-”   
  
A deafening roar shook the very stones of the underground, and the water seemed to vibrate from the intensity. The men all withdrew their swords, and Belle threw a hand out to the wall to steady herself.    
  
Gaston frowned, following the path up the stairs that would lead to the cells. “Well at least we know he’s here.”   
  
Belle ran up the steps, her soaked gown making her gait heavy and labored, and by the time she reached the top of the stairs she was out of breath. Gaston put a hand on her arm to stay her pace as they reached the top, just out of a stone corridor. He put his finger then to his mouth and slowly peered around the side.   
  
“Five guards,” her ex-fiance whispered, and Belle could practically hear the gears in his mind whirring. It was the first time she’d ever had that sensation, seen that bit of spark behind Gaston’s eyes. It became him, she had to admit. Did he always find such surety in these situations?   
  
“What are we going to do?” Belle risked a glance as well, the knights in black armor standing rigid and silent. “I only know simple spells, cleaning and mending-”   
  
“ We are not going to do anything,” Gaston raised his eyebrows at her before turning and sliding into the threshold of the hall. The lieutenant pulled Belle back quickly, and the sounds of clashing metal erupted in the corridor.   
  
Belle pulled against the lieutenant’s grasp, “He can’t do this by himself- go help him!”   
  
“Sir Gaston is more than capable, my lady,” the lieutenant spoke, his voice holding a note of amusement. “I guarantee we will only be in his way.”   
  
It seemed as soon as the clash had begun that it stopped only a heartbeat after, and Gaston swung back around, a shining sheen of sweat to his face but looking nothing more than exhilarated. “I think these might be of use,” he sighed proudly and dropped a ring of keys into Belle’s hands.    
  
Belle smirked up at Gaston before hopping up and giving him a peck on the cheek. “Quickly,” she whispered, and raced around the side, hopping over the fallen soldiers. Most of them, she could see, were not dead, just merely knocked out and that made her both annoyed and glad. It would be more practical for Gaston to have killed them, but knowing that he was not quick to shed blood pleased her.    
  
Belle followed the path and soon the stone walls began changing, becoming less crude as they raced up the stairs. At the top, a large double oak door stood impressively, and Belle took a deep breath to steady herself, “Right,” turning to the lieutenant, she whispered, “You take the men, and you will stay on the ground floor. Take out as many guards as you can, but do so quietly. Our strength is not our advantage here, it is in the surprise of it.”   
  
The man nodded, his eyes a bit rounder than they had been. Belle supposed he’d never thought he’d be in this position, in the heart of the home of the Evil Queen, taking orders from a maid to rescue the Dark One. It all seemed quite topsy turvy when put in those terms.   
  
Belle turned to Gaston, “I’ll need you with me in case I am met with any unsavory characters.”   
  
Gaston smiled and bowed his head, “Of course.”   
  
The halls of the castle were completely silent, and as Belle, Gaston, and their band crept into the hall, the tension began to loosen itself from Belle’s neck and shoulders. Rumpelstiltskin was close by, that much she knew. That thought alone was comforting enough; she’d depended on him for so much since taking her in, and she trusted him, against her better judgment. If she could just find him and free him, she knew he would be able to solve this mess somehow.   
  
Another agonizing roar shook the entire castle, and Belle’s hands flew up to cover her ears as the sound resonated. Whatever they were doing to him, it was torture. She could only take comfort in the fact he was still a dragon- she feared what the Evil Queen might do if she knew she’d caught Rumpelstiltskin in her trap.   
  
When they found the foyer, the lieutenant split his guards up and dispersed, leaving Gaston and Belle alone in the cold grey room, the marble tiles beneath and around them impeccably sterile. “How do you know where he’ll be?” Gaston murmured, his eyes constantly moving around the room.   
  
“Besides following the roar?” Belle shook her head, willing exhaustion back and trying to clear her mind. “It’ll have to be in the largest room- a ballroom, perhaps, or the throne room. If we go up, we might be able to find a gallery.”   
  
“Like your father’s,” Gaston’s voice softened, and Belle turned to look at him with a gentle smile. It wasn’t either of their faults that their contracted marriage had not succeeded, not truly. Sometimes, some people were just not meant to be together, and Belle did not blame Gaston for that.    
  
“Yes,” Belle nodded, and began walking again, briskly and quietly. “Yes, just like Papa’s.”    
  
It took them little trouble to find the staircase, and as the roars steadily increased, Belle became more confident. It was when they heard the Queen’s voice that her heart shriveled and dropped beneath her feet.    
  
“Slower! You don’t want to kill him yet, you imbecile,” her candy apple sweet voice commanded, no little amount of bite and steel behind the words. Belle and Gaston shrank beside the walls of the gallery as the hallway opened out into the ballroom. They were situated at the front of the castle, the north wall overlooking the forests completely made of glass. The queen stood on the opposite end of the gallery, looking down from her perch. Everything was colored in silvery grey, elegant and rich yet cold, but when Belle got closer to the railing, hiding behind one of the pillars to peer over, she could feel the heat of the dragon from below.   
  
The stench of blood and sulphur almost made her gag.   
  
The Queen had kept him in the rope, tied down to the floor as she oversaw the procession. Belle had read much on the extraction of magical properties concerning dragons (only after she’d come to the Dark Castle, of course- Lord Maurice would never have kept something so gruesome in his own library), and the steps were painful if not tortuous. Belle looked down and took in the amount of rope they’d used, the magical bindings keeping the substance from catching flame. They’d pinned his wings and tail and already declawed him. The soldiers had begun to take his scales using the whips, which landed with loud cracks like lightning, the hooks catching between and ripping the scales off to leave bleeding sores.   
  
Belle closed her eyes to take a deep breath and wash out the nausea; when she looked back and turned her gaze to the queen, she felt nothing but fury. No creature, no matter how dark like Rumpelstiltskin, deserved such pain and torment for the sake of  power .   
  
“There are five of them,” Gaston murmured, coming to crouch behind Belle and look over her shoulder. “I… think I can distract them.”   
  
“You’ll have to draw them away from him,” Belle said with a nod, narrowing her eyes at the perimeter. “Give me time to work through the bindings. He’s badly hurt, but I think he can still fly. If he can make it out, the magic heals itself- he’ll be alright.”   
  
“Can you do that?” Gaston asked, his voice laced with both wonder and doubt.   
  
Belle felt his uncertainty, but smothered it. If she doubted herself now, they would fail. “Yes,” she said through her teeth, never feeling so determined in all her life. “Of course I can.”   
  
Gaston put his hand to her shoulder and squeezed, murmuring, “All right. By your favor, Belle.”   
  
The once-princess smiled at her long lost knight. “And with yours, Gaston.”   
  
Together, they crept back below the gallery, and Belle parted with him when the ballroom opened up before them. Great grey stone pillars encircled the room, and Gaston darted off to the right. He strode from beneath the shadows, drawing his sword and lifting his fingers to his lips, whistling so loud and sharp it left Belle’s ears ringing. The guards at the dragon’s flanks whirled to face him as he stepped out to meet them, smirking.   
  
From above, Belle heard the Queen’s voice, lovely and lethal cracking across the room, “Who are you! Guards, seize him!”   
  
The mad rush of clanking armor and steel filled the air, and Belle took her chance and ran, keeping against the shadow of the pillars before slipping around the dragon’s girth, staying close to the side opposite of the Queen so she could remain hidden. When he felt her, the dragon startled, attempted to tear his wings free from the pins, but Belle knelt down, her knees wet with his blood pooling on the white marble floor beside the webbing near his horns and whispered, “Rumpelstiltskin!”   
  
Immediately, his body froze.   
  
“I’m going to get you out, but you have to be still,” Belle whispered quickly, her entire body trembling. Her eyes glanced between the Queen’s position above them on the gallery floor and to Gaston’s defense against the guards. She laid her hand against the side of his snout for one comforting moment before turning to the rope. Some might have plucked a dagger, or perhaps tried a sword, but Belle knew that to be folly. She also knew a little magic on her own, and she prayed that it would be enough.   
  
Using all the concentration she could muster, Belle blocked out the din around her. She brushed away the clash of steel, smothered the shrillness of the faceless Queen, even let go of the deep, thrumming breathing of the dragon beneath her fingers. She grasped one of the tethers of rope and closed her eyes, thinking of the nights Rumpelstiltskin had her unlace his boots. They were magic undone with magic. Simple enough logic, common sense even to assume it would work on the rope bindings.   
  
Belle thought about that, the way the ties had come apart just with a few touches, just with her sheer will. It had left her with a splitting headache afterwards ( “stressing magic” Rumpelstiltskin had called it), but that did not deter her. Using what she knew, Belle applied it and began to think of unlacing and unweaving and felt the thick coarse rope go slack beneath her fingers as it unravelled to mere string in her palms.    
  
The dragon felt it, too, and Belle could hear a deep growl of appreciation building inside him as she crouched beside his belly and continued her work. It was only when she got to his wings to remove the hook that kept him pinned to the floor did she hear the Queen’s voice break through, “NO!”   
  
Belle’s head snapped up to meet the Queen’s face, pale with rage and her eyes dark with wrath.   
  
“The girl, you fools- stop the girl!”   
  
When two of the knights who had gangpressed Gaston back against the wall turned and rushed at Belle, the dragon lifted his head, now free enough of the rope to turn his snout upwards and exhaled a massive, engulfing billow of fire, black as pitch and melting both armor and bone. Belle turned her face away before she could see it and finished with the rope before jumping over the back of the dragon, trying to dodge the bleeding wounds where his scales had been ripped away, sliding down his flank and yanking the opposite hook out of his wing. She held the rusted, bloody piece of metal in her hands, marvelling at what she’d just done. She knew she had to act fast or it would all be for naught, but the idea that she’d just rescued a monster, the world’s most powerful sorcerer, had her mind whirling.   
  
And only using a simple spell that unlaced boots.   
  
Turning to the dragon, Belle dropped the hook and put both hands to the top of his snout, shoving him gently. His eyes were closed and he had stopped fighting against the bindings. “Wake up!” she whispered, “We must go- now- Rumpelstiltskin!”   
  
His eyes lulled open as if a great effort, the burning golden orbs gazing up at her.    
  
And with such  sadness .   
  
“Oh- oh no,” Belle knelt down quickly, panicking, “No, no- don’t you dare do this now- not  now , not after all of this, you stupid, stubborn man,” she hadn’t realized there were tears in her eyes until she was blinking them away, letting them drip down her bodice. Her fingers curled against his scales, trying to grasp him and failing. “I have been loyal to you since we made our deal, a deal of forever and I need you to… I  need  you. You have to rise again- I saved you, don’t you see?” her voice trembled in a whimper, “You cannot die a beast’s death.”   
  
And then a sudden force, like an invisible backhand, threw Belle off her feet and into the window facing the forest. When she landed hard, her head cracking on the tile, she could hear the clicking of high heels against the ballroom floor joining the ringing of her ears. She couldn’t see Gaston or the other soldiers, and she only hoped that he’d drawn them off, perhaps escaped back through the palace.    
  
“You think that you may step foot in my palace and make such attempts against me?” the Queen trilled, her laugh sickeningly saccharine as she strode closer to Belle. “Foolish child, playing with monsters.”   
  
Belle tried to push herself up and slipped, falling back down on her wrists. There was blood on her hand, cut on broken glass, though she couldn’t remember breaking the window. Her whole body shook when she tried to crawl away, only to have a bony hand tangle in her fallen curls and haul her up to her knees. Belle shrieked, her heels scrabbling against the tile as the Queen yanked her back, forcing her face up. She was beautiful; beautiful and deadly and dark.    
  
“I don’t know what you want, or what you’re after,” the Queen crooned to her, stroking her face almost affectionately. “But you’ve failed. Your prince fallen, your numbers scattered. And now I’ll put you in a tower where only your dust will collect,” she paused, her blood red lips curving into a smile when she sneered, “And all for that monster.”   
  
Belle blinked against her mind’s fluttering attempt to stay conscious, her head lolling in dizziness from her fall, but behind the Queen, rising above with blackened wings and glittering scales like garnets, a demon, a shade, a nightmare unfurled its wings and cast a shadow over the both of them.    
  
With a sweet sigh preceding the darkness, Belle smiled up at the Queen, “He is no monster, your Majesty. He is mine.”


	5. With Beauty and Courage

“Rumpelstiltskin, wait!”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin, formerly Mr. Gold, groaned, his body sinking against the side of Granny’s Diner. He felt something hot and wet trickling through his hair, and he could only guess from his blurry vision that it was blood, though his leg had suffered more from a crowbar. Had anyone ever told him that the rubber spined genie of the lamp would have the gumption to hit him over the back of the head and beat him senseless, he would have been hard pressed to give them the benefit of the doubt.   
  
Now? Not so much.  
  
Red Riding Hood pressed him back gently against the building’s siding, her pretty face screwed in worry. Her hair was tangled, knotted, and matted with blood that was also spattered across the side of her face and staining her white blouse. They had been lucky that the Fates had seen to it that the Final Battle took place at a full moon, even if it had been broken with broiling black clouds and rain sheeting against the steaming streets strewn with wreckage and the bodies of those slain and fallen.  
  
Now, in the early morning, before dawn set against a backdrop of murky red sky, the wolf-girl and the Dark One had found a moment’s silence in between two charred establishments. For a fleeting moment, Rumpelstiltskin thought of his own shop, a cavern of useful magic that could have aided them had Regina not seen fit to split the shop in half the first chance she’d gotten. It had been one of the first things destroyed.  
  
“Are you alright?” the red cloaked girl asked, touching his shoulder. He found it amusing that she who had been so skittish of him as a normal man while under the fog of the curse was now unafraid to touch him, what with his green scaled skin peeking from beneath the collar of his suit, marring half his face, and bright frenzied gaze dancing lopsidedly. He was half man, half monster now, more terrible than ever.  
  
He closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing steadily through his nose. As it stood, he didn’t cut the same impressive figure as he so normally did, what with his suit jacket missing, his shirt sleeves rolled up, covered in soot, blood, and ruined by smoke. The blast that had torn apart the Mayor’s home had backfired horribly, and Prince James had been thrown across the street. Rumpelstiltskin had been the only one there besides the savior, and she could hardly stand to see her father-the rightful king-in that much pain, much less been coherent enough to fix him. They’d been lucky that Rumpelstiltskin had experience in the art of replacing bones (albeit, he was more talented at breaking them), but when he shoved his knee into Charming’s chest to keep him pinned down and popped his shoulder back into place, they had still thanked him.  
  
“I’m fine, dearie,” he said after a long moment, panting gently. The strain on his leg was taking its toll on the rest of his body, especially after he’d lost his cane in the first battle against Regina. Of course the witch bitch had lashed out with a revealing charm, but it had hit the wrong side of his body, his weaker side (an unfortunate instinct). She’d awakened the Ogres, and while Rumpelstiltskin had some varying expertise in battling the creatures, it had been nothing short of a horror trying to fight them.  They’d torn people apart.  
  
Red Riding Hood collapsed back against the siding next to him, covering her mouth. Tears welled up in her eyes, but the wolf girl made no sound. Whether she was trying to keep her dignity intact or simply swallow her fears, Rumpelstiltskin was not sure, but he covered her hand in his, offering an assuring pressure that seemed to comfort her.  
  
“I killed people,” she whispered, her fingers hovering over her broken, blood stained lips before sliding up the sides of her moon pale face, smearing the blood across her cheeks as she covered her ears with a whimper. “I can hear them screaming.”  
  
“You did what you had to do,” Rumpelstiltskin muttered, his voice hoarse and cacophonous, the sound fused between the reedy Dark One and the earthy timber of Rumpelstiltskin. “We all did.”  
  
“It’s not over.”  
  
The night had thrummed with the pounding hearts and the rushing of blood, and dimmed in the predawn, but the force, the underlying power of magic resurfacing, beating beneath the stone under their feet like a caged animal was still strong. If he closed his eyes and listened, he could hear the clash of steel several streets over, and could sense a larger, deeper hum of magic across town.  
  
“Indeed not.”  
  
After catching their breath, Red Riding Hood pushed herself up on long, weak legs, stumbling for a moment before offering her arm. Rumpelstiltskin took it gratefully, leaning probably too much on the poor girl, but his own old bones were creaking from the strain of fighting through the night. It was infuriating, having his power, half his outward appearance, but still fused with his decrepit body in some ways. “Where are we going?” she asked, her voice suddenly much quieter as they came out of the alley onto the sidewalk. The street appeared deserted, littered with debris, but Gold couldn’t shake the anxiety and tension from his shoulders.  
  
“We have to find my cane,” he said, grunting as he all but dragged his leg behind him.  
  
“We need to get back to-”  
  
“My cane first, dearie.”  
  
Red huffed under his arm as they hobbled down the sidewalk, “Can you make it that far?”  
  
The doubt in her voice mirrored the tone of his thoughts, but he pressed his lips together grimly and they walked in silence, crossing the street as quickly as they could manage. They both knew they couldn’t stay in the open. Regina’s puppets, her mindless drones were slipping through the borders with ease, even escaping the lookouts. Their territory was the forest, a shelter from the whites of her eyes, and they shouldn’t be in town, awash with blood and metal.  
  
But Rumpelstiltskin was done with hiding, and he was done with running.  
  
Once upon a time, he had been a dragon, a monster, a beast that was to be feared. He would not run, not from this.  
  
“I don’t even remember where you lost it,” Red muttered, more to herself than him. He hadn’t been overly fond of the wolf-girl, nor could he admit that he’d been thrilled when they’d placed them together, but she was swift and in more ways than her transfiguration. She could make decisions fast, especially in critical situations, something Rumpelstiltskin admired. She was also a quick learner, and a surprisingly good soldier, one to take orders and carry out her end of a deal.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin winced, his vision still swimming as he tried to organize his thoughts from the night before. “Near my shop,” he finally said. He doubted anyone would have touched it, amidst the rubble and fallen world, his cane would probably be more trouble finding than it was for someone who didn’t know what it was to try to use it.  
  
Red nodded, and they turned down onto the street. For a moment, both of them held their breath, but when no enemy presented themselves, Rumpelstiltskin relaxed, his ribs aching as he breathed out a sigh of relief. But Red was frozen at his side, and it only took him a moment to realize what she saw- and Rumpelstiltskin for all his delight in the atrocities of others, felt the bottom of his heart fall into the earth.  
  
Red Riding Hood was shaking, and she moaned, “ _No_.”  
  
Shoving away from him, she ran forward, but Rumpelstiltskin was anchored to the ground where he was, afraid to move as the girl ran to a tweed vested man who was lying slain in the gutter. She made no sound, though the absence of a wolf’s howl was more deafening than the quiet that spanned between them. She knelt over her fallen beloved, her shoulders shaking as she tried to rouse him, but Archie Hopper, the conscience and voice of reason against the warring and the hate, was cold, and Rumpelstiltskin knew that no magic, not even True Love, could bring people back from the endless sleep he’d gone under.  
  
Red tried True Love’s kiss anyway. Rumpelstiltskin wanted to pull her away, for some reason, a harsh desire to turn her and protect her. Too many lives had been spent, too many loves had been lost. The cricket and the wolf had been unsuspecting, their differences varied to the point of a painful fall out, but he had thought they’d deserved their happiness once they’d discovered it between shy glances and affectionate murmurs of “love bug” and other silly nonsense.   
  
And now with this girl streaked in someone else’s blood, whispering her mouth over the dead man’s, Rumpelstiltskin held his breath and hoped he was wrong about it all.  
  
It didn’t work.  
  
The Dark One waited patiently, not for his own benefit, but for the girl’s (and the cricket’s) dignity, as well. By the time he approached, she had tearfully closed his eyes, her fingers covering her lips to keep her crying at bay. The Dark One swallowed thickly, resting a hand on the wolf’s shoulder.  
  
“They broke his glasses,” Red whispered, nodding to the spectacles that were crunched upon the sidewalk. The girl whimpered, holding her lover’s head in her lap, but she was able to swallow her tears. “He couldn’t see them coming.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin swallowed hard, and when he squeezed her shoulder the wolf girl snapped her face up to him, her eyes flickering between the deepest sorrow and a frightening terror of gold. “You kill her, Rumpelstiltskin,” she hissed through her teeth. “You kill her, take everything from her, and make her watch the world burn.”  
  
The ferocity in her voice gave him pause, and for a moment he wasn’t sure who was speaking, wolf or woman. There was truly on one being at fault for it all, even though there were so many people he’d like to see dead, and the thought was morbidly pleasing that he was being given charge. He nodded once, the fused voice cutting through the quiet street like a dagger in the dark. “Bury your dead, girl,” he murmured as he turned, intent on finding his cane.   
  
Rumpelstiltskin knew he was beyond redemption, but if there was truly a hell, he was going to see his enemy to it. She had sins to answer for, and he would see that she paid in full.  
  
Without help, it took him much longer to get down the street with stealth, but by some kind of miracle, he managed to reach the clock tower without being seen. Before he made it to the front step, the door swung open, and he fell against the threshold, a pair of strong hands catching his arms.  
  
“Easy there, Rumpelstiltskin,” August Booth murmured, and before he knew it, Gold was sitting back on an ugly misshapen couch and his bad leg propped up. He felt hands roll up his pant leg, but the lighting was too dim to make out who was trying to administer the healing to his knee. The delicate features of a woman’s silhouette cut against the light, but the pain radiating up his leg dismissed the notion that it was important.  
  
“Where’s the pup?” a low voice asked, and Rumpelstiltskin rolled his eyes over to the library’s counter, a sneer curling his lip against the pain radiating up his leg.  
  
“Busy.”  
  
The Mad Hatter moved from behind the counter, twirling his hat by the rim between his hands thoughtfully. “You were to bring her here. We’re too scattered to-”  
  
“Don’t you dare presume to tell me my job,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped, his hand kneading his forehead. The tension in his neck and shoulders had brought on a headache, and it was a struggle just to focus and think. He’d been without sleep for too long to be of much use, but he couldn’t rest now. The end was too soon, and dawn was breaking.  
  
“This will sting,” the girl whispered, before he felt something wet and cold against the skin of his knee. He hissed a breath in, but bit down from making any other noise as she cleaned the wound with alcohol.  
  
The boarded up library was dark and hard to see in, but once his eyes adjusted he could make out Midas’ daughter sitting with his foot in her lap, a first aid kit perched on the arm of the couch. They were all quiet, Jefferson pacing languidly behind the counter and August peeking out between the blinds and boards over the windows.  
  
Finally, as if he could bear it no longer, Jefferson spun to face Rumpelstiltskin, slamming his gun atop the counter. “This is a foolish idea.”  
  
“It’s our only idea,” the fight was gone from him now that he had a moment to recover, and fatigue was slowly settling in his old and weary bones. “Our best chance.”  
  
“It’s not an impossible one,” Abigail offered gently as she pulled out a roll of gauze.  
  
The Mad Hatter scoffed, “Is that what you said when Sir Frederick followed Prince James into the fray last night before he was captured? Is that what you said to comfort yourself when your lover became a prisoner of war?”  
  
“That’s not fair,” Pinocchio murmured somberly.   
  
Rumpelstiltskin chuckled without mirth, “Jefferson has never been known as a diplomat.”  
  
“Which is why I feel no need to argue the fact that  your  apprentice will be leading this debacle,” Jefferson said coolly, a smile curving his handsome face.   
  
Rumpelstiltskin swung himself off the couch, halfway to the counter before Abigail took hold of his arm and jerked him back. His eyes were blazing, raven’s wings in the dark as he snarled, “She goes no where near the  Reul Ghorm . I forbid it.”  
  
“Stop, your leg is still bleeding-” Abigail pleaded, giving his arm a gentle tug.  
  
Jefferson smiled, “Not so confident when it’s one of your own?”  
  
“I’ve lost one already, we all have,” Rumpelstiltskin countered, his voice weaker than he would have liked, but the truth was there, feeble and hurting. “I will not lose her too, not after I found her again.”  
  
“And we all have to make sacrifices,” Jefferson replied, aloof and disconnected. Rumpelstiltskin was not a violent man, but there was something about the Mad Hatter that made him want to take a shovel to his smug, young face. “And as I recall,” the Hatter paused, using his gun to point at Rumpelstiltskin with an ironic smile, “I believe I  was the one who found her. Not you. As much as you might like it, Dark One, she’s not even yours to lose.”  
  
Both the Madman and the Dark One stared each other down, faces darkening and eyes gleaming with challenge until the golden princess stepped between them with a steady voice and firm hands, “You must sit, before you die from losing so much blood that I can’t fix you.”   
  
Rumpelstiltskin was the first to give, then, and allowed Abigail to sit him back down and tend to his leg. His hands curled in his lap, his mind trying to work through the fog of exhaustion to digest what was being given to him. He had never been one to take orders, not even before his curse. It was not that he was rebellious- that wasn’t his nature- but he would do anything and all to avoid confrontation. It had been the reason for him protecting Bae, choosing to run rather than fight. It was the same instinct he held then.   
  
When he finally found words, they were loaded and deliberate, “What makes you think Belle would even agree to this,” he growled out, his eyes lifting in a glare at the Hatter.  
  
Jefferson smirked, leaning both hands on the desk, “Why wouldn’t she? It was her idea.”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin had no time to process this, because the next moment Pinnochio was jumping up from the chair, “They’re coming. Abigail, help me.”  
  
Midas’ daughter finished wrapping Rumpelstiltskin’s leg and hurried to help remove the boards from the doors. Rumpelstiltskin rolled his pant leg back down and pushed himself to sit on the arm of the couch. He felt Jefferson move behind him, coming to stand closer as Pinocchio opened the door to let in a dwarf, a fairy, and a long lost princess. Snow White was cradling her arm to her chest as the wooden boy and Grumpy boarded the doors back up. They were too afraid to open them very frequently, the dragon fire had done considerable damage to the structure of the entire building, but there was really nowhere else they could congregate to regroup.  
  
“Half this war is fighting blood and torn flesh,” Abigail muttered, helping Snow White down into one of the overstuffed armchairs they’d gathered from the main room of the library.  
  
“Doc’s been with Emma,” Snow White whispered, trying not to hiss when Abigail gently turned her arm for inspection. “She needed our best aid- no offense,” she added quietly to the princess tending her wound.   
  
“None taken,” Abigail smiled. “Doc’s far better than I am.”  
  
“Yeah, well, doesn’t help that traitor Whale sided with the rival,” Grumpy grumbled from his post near the door, he and Pinocchio taking turns looking out the window.  
  
“What did you expect?  She ’s there,” Abigail snorted, testing Snow’s wrist gently as she bent it back and forth.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin had been blocking out the conversation until Nova sat down beside him. Her hand on his arm made him jump, and she startled in return, her large brown eyes blinking anxiously, “Sorry,” she whispered, breathless, “It’s just- I’m sure they’ve told you by now-”  
  
“Yes.” It was biting, and he knew he shouldn’t snap at the poor young woman; it wasn’t her fault.  
  
“I just wanted you to know- Belle knows what she’s doing,” Nova looked down at her hands which were scarred and very, very burned, the spiral shaping of a familiar pattern branding her hands. Most likely permanent, by his guess. “We practiced all night.”  
  
“This kind of magic takes years to become accustomed with,” Rumpelstiltskin replied scathingly. He shook his head, so frustrated he ground his teeth, his good leg bobbing up and down as he tapped his heel impatiently. “What has gotten into her, thinking of taking this on alone?”   
  
“You’re not the only one protecting someone,” Snow White said suddenly, and they all turned to look at the fairest of them all as she set her lovely eyes fearlessly on Rumpelstiltskin. Abigail had paused in her ministrations as Snow leaned forward, her knees almost touching Rumpelstiltskin’s as she put her face close, intimidatingly so until he leaned back from her ferocity and confidence. She smirked, “As I recall, she’s saved your life not once but twice, once upon a time. It seems to be a pattern, if I’m any judge.”   
  
“She deserves a knight or a prince doing this- putting herself deliberately in danger is reckless at best,” Rumpelstiltskin replied, but with every word he grew more and more lame in his defense. He knew Belle was strong and capable, her mind adept to almost any situation. She had planned wars once. She had no skill with a sword, but her mind was quick and lethal when the occasion called. Her bravery often balanced out his cowardice, especially in these last days of attacks. She had been his support, anchor, and harbor in times of doubt. She’d been everything, a voice of reason and comfort. “Compensation for my shortcomings won’t win this war.”  
  
“No, it won’t,” Snow White allowed, and sounded wiser than her years as she leaned back and bowed her head. “But perhaps third time’s the charm we’re hoping for.”  
  
In the end, Jefferson smuggled both Rumpelstiltskin and Nova with him. The plan was not complicated: at nine in the morning, Emma and Regina were to cross blades (so to speak) in front of city hall, drawing the bulk of the fighting toward the center of town while the greater evil gained force near the edge of the forest.  
  
Because the side of good did not join hands with the darkness.   
  
Because that was sympathizing, that was apologetic, and that was not how fairy tales worked.  
  
Because such melding must be smothered and brought through the fire to burnish, to be made new. Prince James and Snow White had given their daughter her best chance twenty eight years prior to that very day, and they were doing the same again by accepting Rumpelstiltskin’s hand. They knew he had his own reasons for taking down Regina, just as they did, and that trust was too high a price to pay when their daughter and grandson were at stake, but they were smarter than to take the gamble of putting faith in determination without cleverness.  
  
The Blue Fairy, their patron and ally for so many years, had not seen it in those terms. She never had, truth be told, and her gentle manipulation had reached its limit with Snow, who saw her husband and daughter off to war, and when she bared her teeth to the little woman in blue, she had burned her bridge and not regretted losing that side of magic.  
  
This was no longer a fight of good and evil, but right and wrong, and they all, each and every one of them, fought with fangs and claws and flame to keep what they had and protect who still remained. It was a struggle for magic, for power, and Rumpelstiltskin wanted both.  
  
And the Dark One did not intend to lose.  
  
The dawn did not bring light, nor had it since the war took hold and magic was brought back. The sky was boiling black and gathering a mile away in a storm cloud, but Hatter stalked, the Dark One limped, and the fairy scuttled along unhindered between the buildings nearer Mr. Gold’s shop.  
  
“This is where she’s been?” Rumpelstiltskin asked doubtfully, looking up and down the deceptively deserted street.  
  
“The most damaged sites were best for cover,” Jefferson muttered under his breath as they came up the back alley behind the shop. “Regina has assumed she’s scattered us by attempting to destroy our strongholds. She is, of course, wrong.”   
  
“This place could collapse at any moment,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped, glaring at the Madman’s back. Jefferson ignored him as he opened the back door, shoving his shoulder against it to unwedge the threshold. A sprinkling of glass crunched underfoot as they entered, and dusty light spilled in from the cracked ceiling overhead.   
  
“Yes,” Jefferson hummed, stopping just inside the office with a frown as he looked around the dilapidated room. His brow furrowed as he paused. “Belle?” he called.  
  
No one answered.  
  
Jefferson spun on his heel, his lip curling back as he growled at the slight little fairy at Rumpelstiltskin’s side, “Where is she?”  
  
Nova’s eyes widened more, a feat Rumpelstiltskin had been sure was impossible, and her lip quivered in anxiety, her words stumbling between wavering attempts to rein in her emotions, “I left her here last night- she was fine-”  
  
And then a heavy, muted feeling, like an eruption passing beneath the floor seemed to spread across the world and shook the walls of the fallen shop. A light followed it, bright against the darkened day, and they could see it flash past the door through the windows of the front of the store.   
  
Rumpelstiltskin’s barely beating heart fell through the floor. He pushed past Jefferson through the shop, his weak knee making it hard to manuever through the wreckage until he was able to slam the front door open. Outside, in the middle of the street, amidst fallen electricity poles, totaled cars, crashed siding and charred billboards, his little Belle, Beauty of the Enchanted Forest, was knelt down behind her father’s overturned florist’s van, her arm wrapped around her middle. She was maybe twenty, thirty yards away, and Rumpelstiltskin didn’t even think-a first in his many years-when he took off in a hobbling excuse for a run. Belle looked up just in time to throw out her arms and catch him as he fell to her side, and another quake shook the ground, followed by an ear piercing shriek of twisting metal and a deafening crash. They both hunkered for a moment, Belle pressing her face into the side of his chest as he put his arm over her, both ducking their heads under a rain of glass.  
  
“What the devil do you think you’re doing,” Rumpelstiltskin hissed, his voice muffled by their hair. “You were supposed to wait for us to find you.”  
  
Belle pushed her elbow against his arm, the heels of her white hospital shoes scraping the pavement as she pushed herself up closer to him, muttering breathlessly, “She came early, what else was I supposed to do!”  
  
“You do  nothing ,” Rumpelstiltskin snapped, glaring at his little love. The last thing he wanted was to quarrel with her, but his anger was pushed to the forefront of his thoughts and in that moment he was between dragging her kicking and screaming into the woods or kissing her blind. Both seemed preferable to seeing her in the middle of the mayhem. “If you had gotten yourself kil-”  
  
“A bit late for that, where we’re sitting,” Belle said tartly, her blue eyes glaring right back at him.  
  
It was only then he noticed what she held in her hand. He could feel panic lacing through his ribs as he stared at the glass wand with the gold handle, the spirals of the wooden base curving perfectly in her palm where it had latched into his cane for so long. He had thought that Nova had given Belle her own wand, but for some reason this alleviated much of his worry to know she was wielding some of his own magic. “You found it.”  
  
“It took us all night,” Belle admitted, wincing for a moment and he noticed she favored her right side, and as much as he wanted to reach out and examine every bruise, scrape, and scratch on her delicate skin, he resisted. He loved her, but he knew she would never forgive him if he let affection blind the purpose of their plan. “But yes, I found it,” she smiled up at him, a dimpled smile that crinkled her eyes and ruffled her nose, and past the tangled, matted hair and soot and smoke stained skin, it was his shining little Belle.  
  
Rumpelstiltskin could hear something building behind them, a terrible, thundering pull of energy-the inhalation of magic-but he stared squarely into Belle’s gaze, an action that took all the bravery he had left, and whispered, “I cannot let you do this alone.”  
  
“I can’t fight- not truly, not with a sword, or with my fists, and not even with my words,” Belle winced before her dirty fingers found his own, slipping into his hand and squeezing tight. “But if this is the little that I can do, I’m going to do it, Rumpelstiltskin,” a smile broke across her lips, and she looked down where their fingers entwined between pieces of rubble, “That night after we visited King Cornelius, and I thought so assuredly that you were dying- I had been so scared. So frightened,” a knot formed in his throat, impossibly tight and painful, yet he didn’t speak, or swallow, or breathe, just held her hand as tightly as he could as the world burned down around them, “And as horrible as it was, thinking you were dying, the worst part was feeling like I didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what I  could  do,” she raised her eyes, blue against her pale, smoke burnished skin. “When I set you free, it was hard to feel scared of anything ever again. What had I to fear, knowing that a force dark enough to entrap the world’s most powerful sorcerer was not enough for me? I know what I can do, now. And I’m not afraid, Rumpelstiltskin, truly, I am not.”  
  
Yes, yes he very much wanted to kiss her. He wished he could kiss the words right off her lips, but the thought was fleeting, barely registering and only giving him enough time to just squeeze her hand again when a voice, shrill and high in pitch cut across the dark morning, “I know you’re there! If you think you can stop me, show yourself!”  
  
The look that lighted Belle’s eyes was the same he’d seen in her the day she’d asked to step into the dragon’s mouth. A smile curved her lips, a quick, sad, determined thing, and suddenly she was gone- her hand ripped from his, jumping up atop the overturned truck and sliding across the metal siding over his head.  
  
The Blue Fairy’s hair was wild about her shoulders, falling from her so normally neat bun. Still clothed in her Mother Superior ensemble, though torn and tattered, she appeared a frightful visage against the hellish backdrop the curse was wreaking on their world. Belle did not flinch when the fae threw her spell, and Rumpelstiltskin saw why- she had no wand, simply using her hands. A dangerous thing, he knew, to not have a source to channel one’s magic. It was harder to aim the spell, harder still to control how much force was being used to cast it. No wonder she had started tremors, but it seemed as though that were the desired effect.  
  
When self-righteousness was tested, anarchy was easily bred.  
  
Belle hit the ground and Rumpelstiltskin fell back down when the hex hit the side of the van, sending it skidding two or three inches. Had he not pulled his arms in on himself, he probably would’ve lost a hand.   
  
Where the Blue Fairy was powerful with a mighty sway of reckoning force, Belle was quick, lithe, and sharp in her counter attacks. The blue light aimed at her met a shimmering golden shield that flashed against every thrown attack, and Rumpelstiltskin felt his heart beat out of sync to see his girl wield his magic so well.   
  
But he knew that the battle had to end only one way. He had no bravery to offer her, but once upon a time, he had taught her deceptively simple tricks of magic, knowing that if she should ever need them, they would aid her. Ironically, they’d aided her in saving him when his life had been under siege, but he had never thought such matters would come to that. Now he recalled, bit by bit, those ancient words he’d read to her- _ spells to bend and bind, spells to fix and twine, spells of frost and fire, spells of devil’s ire_.  
  
When Belle countered the next attack, Rumpelstiltskin pushed past the searing pain in his leg to move behind the crushed van. He grit his teeth against it and pulled himself up just long enough to growl out, “Belle-” when she looked to him, he resisted pulling her back, resisted telling her to run, to hide, to get down, because he knew she had to do this- that she could do this. “Belle,” he said again, the old dragon growling inside, his eyes burning gold around the pupil and simmering beneath his skin, “Start a fire.”  
  
And oh, she was his clever girl in sorceress’ robes again, the realization sparking in her face. She turned and met the next attack, but instead of dodging it, instead of running, Belle knelt to one knee to brace herself against the insurmountable force and threw up the shield again, only this time she whispered a word he’d taught her in the old tongue, a word she had never known the true meaning for until after she’d rescued and tamed a beast. It was a word she’d used to spark a kitchen hearth, to light a blaze in the great hall to warm the chill from the windows as she’d read and he’d spin. It was an ancient word in disguise of  simple homespun magic.  
  
Even across a battlefield, the beast inside him heard the word as if she’d whispered it in his ear.  
  
The closest meaning was  _dragon’s fire_.  
  
When the Blue Fairy threw her spell in a bolt of cobalt light, the shield, simmering gold sparkled at Belle’s word, and grew red, flames dancing around the edges. It caught the spell instead of merely deflecting it, and instead the blue magic ricocheted back, striking the former Mother Superior squarely in the middle and throwing her back through the air to land hard with a crack against the ground.   
  
The silence that followed was deafening, but as the smoke and dust began to settle, Rumpelstiltskin stood upon shaky legs and picked his way through metal and debris to the still kneeling girl. With gentle hands, he helped her to her feet and was only slightly aware she’d let the wand fall from her grip to the ground. Blood dripped from her palm, the entire face of her hand and fingers burned terribly where the magic had seared her skin.  
  
As horrifying as it was to see Belle’s blood, to see her blameless skin marred beyond recognition or repair, he couldn’t help but feel relieved that it was the worst of the damage. Grown men had lost arms trying to summon dragon fire from magic, yet up until then, Belle’s little spells for sparking hearths had probably given her a headache at best, though she no doubt hadn’t noticed a correlation. Either way, magic always came with a price, but when he wrapped his arms around her, clinging to her as much as she to him, he sighed wearily into her hair, thanking the old gods and new that they had not more to pay.  
  
Belle was still in shock, though, her eyes wide and her voice barely a whisper, “Is... is it over?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He felt her nod against his chest, cradling her bloody hand against her breast before looking up at him, dazed. “How... did you know?”  
  
“Fairy magic doesn’t mix well with what I am,” Rumpelstiltskin murmured softly, tucking tangled tresses behind her ear as he let his eyes take in her face, every scratch, smudge, and line. Belle nodded slowly, hearing and understanding the words gradually. He leaned forward and pressed a firm, warm kiss to her forehead. He tried to ignore the feeling of the hot, sticky wetness of blood soak into the front of his shirt where her hand pressed against his suit. Belle had worn his blood enough, though. To return the favor was more an honor than anything to wear into war.  
  
“You knew, didn’t you?” Belle whispered against his suit, looking up into his face, half mottled with monster’s scales, the other with warm, smooth skin. She looked on him like he was a knight instead of a beast, and he held her like she was his queen. “You knew I would be able to do it- to summon magic. You knew all this time, since you taught me,” she shook her head, looking up at him with unfathomable blue eyes. “How?”  
  
Rumpelstiltskin smiled, a grotesque thing, but it was warmth and longing and truth as he cupped her face in hand and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, “You’ve always possessed the makings for a queen, my dear. A queen, a sorceress, a conqueror, a destroyer. I put my life in your hands time and time again, and I never felt you unequal to the task,” his eyes flickered up to hers, hovering just on the edge of the most faith he’d ever had in anyone else in the world. “What is an old dragon worth in the end, beside the beauty of kindness that slays the dark?”


End file.
